


Under the Snow White Hawthorns

by wallowingwillow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Christmas Smut, Christmas Special, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gryffindor, Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts, Holidays, Malfoy Manor, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-War, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slytherin, Slytherin Common Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:40:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28082568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallowingwillow/pseuds/wallowingwillow
Summary: "The song ended and a gentle, slow waltz floated across the dance floor. The lights dimmed signaling a shift in the evening. The room softened, and Hermione had the sudden urge to bolt. All at once it was too delicate, too vulnerable, as though a spotlight were on them. Her hands started to tremble as she pulled away. “Stay,” he pleaded into her ear, hands tightening around her waist. Her heart caught in her chest, searching his ocean gray eyes as he waited for her answer. “Please.” It took her but a moment to consider before she nodded, settling into his arms."After spending the summer rebuilding the castle from the war, everyone finds respite knowing the Christmas party is around the corner. But when the guest list gets too big for the Burrow, Draco offers up Malfoy Manor, and it's there we see something spark and bloom between two war-torn hearts. [Hermione's POV (mostly) and redemption arc Draco. Just a gentle story about two people falling in love.]
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood
Comments: 14
Kudos: 170





	1. Rebuilding from Ruin

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to stay mostly to canon, with the only major exceptions being that Draco got his redemption arc during the battle, and Remus, Tonks, and Colin Creevey lived (as they should have). If you're hoping for snarky, toxic Draco this isn't the fic for you. Our dark prince is on the healing journey he deserved.

Hermione cast a _reparo_ charm on the shattered glass at her feet she knew had lain there, undisturbed, for seven months. Seven months since the loss of so many people she loved, since the destruction of this sacred place. Seven months since the Dark Lord had come for his reckoning.

She thought she would have been numb to it by now, and in a way she was, but the pang of grief still stung a little each time she uncovered a new marker of that horrific day.

She watched the shards jigsaw together into a sizeable flask, and with a wave of her wand returned it to a shelf. She looked around the potion master’s office and heaved a sigh. What a mess. It would take half a day to clean this all up. Her shoulders sagged as she thought of all the valuable ingredients Severus had gathered himself and stored in here for safe keeping. No doubt he’d stashed many of them for the Order. She hated to think of how hard he must have worked to keep them well stocked and prepared.

“Mione?” she heard Ron calling from the classroom.

“Yeah, in here,” she replied dully.

“Do you know what we should do with all these. . .” he stopped when he caught sight of the room. “Oi.”

Together they surveyed the damage. Piles of papers scattered across the entire office, a good many of them covered in blood. They’d need to sort through them in case any contained notes or correspondence about the Order. Liquids of every color and texture had dried and crusted on the walls and floor. Powders, organs, bits of magical flora and fauna littered every surface. An entire cabinet had been overturned during what had clearly been a duel.

“I wish we’d known,” she sighed, sadness in her voice. “I wish we’d trusted him.”

Ron seemed to know what she meant. He put his arm around her and let her rest on his shoulder. The man they’d spent their entire lives hating, despising, believing to be a traitor had, in the most twisted turn of fate, turned out to be the most loyal of them all. So loyal he’d sacrificed his own life.

Ron rubbed her arm comfortingly. To both of their surprise, things hadn’t changed much since their frantic kiss in the dungeon. Sure, they were a bit closer now, trusted each other in a new way, but it hadn’t ignited something like they thought it might. Instead, it just made them more at ease with each other. Like a tinted glass had shattered and now they could see.

“It was his job to make us not trust him. He had to,” he finally replied.

Someone from out in the hall interrupted them. The familiar voice of Remus, warm and grisly, rang through the classroom and into the office.

“Ah, Harry,” they heard him call. “Ron and Hermione with you?”

They broke apart and returned to the classroom, where Harry was doing a quick job of returning quills and books to the shelves.

“Ah, you three, come with me. Sybill needs everyone in the North tower. We’re mending the framework in the Divination classroom today.”

Ever since the battle there’d been an implicit familiarity between the survivors who stayed to help with the castle. They’d long since dispensed with honorifics and formalities. In truth, it was partly out of comfort and partly out of respect. Every single person on the grounds that day had fought. Fought to save each other, the castle, and the wizarding world as they knew it. Their difference in age didn’t matter so much anymore. Experience and seniority had lost its social value. They were all equal now; all adults, in an odd sort of way. The war had leveled everyone.

The three of them followed Remus out across the North courtyard where a few others were headed in that direction to help. Dean and Seamus caught up with them, and Hermione spotted Neville and Luna holding hands up ahead. She smiled fondly as she watched Neville slip an affectionate kiss on Luna’s mess of golden curls.

A clipped gait from behind made her glance over her shoulder. She caught a glimmer of platinum hair and a tall, slender figure clad entirely in black. Draco.

He was alone, as he had been every time she’d seen him that summer. It had surprised her, as well as Harry and Ron, that he stayed for the reconstruction. Not as surprising, however, as what he’d done during the battle. As long as she lived, she would never forget the moment Voldemort beckoned Draco to join him by his side.

From her vantage she could vividly remember seeing his wand hand twitch, clench in hesitation. And in the ultimate act of surprise, he’d cast a disarming spell at Voldemort, right there in front of everyone. So quick, so unexpected, she questioned for a moment if it truly came from the hawthorn wand in his hand, or from somewhere else.

The spell was immediately deflected, of course. It barely made it across the courtyard before Voldemort had countered it, but it didn’t matter. After that, Malfoy had seemingly abandoned his parents, the Death Eaters, and the rest of Voldemort’s regime and fought with the rest of Hogwarts.

Over the summer she’d learned, through many late night conversations over firewhiskey and chips, of at least four people he’d come to the aid of during those last waves of the fight.

“He’s still a right foul git,” Ron muttered viciously one night from the lumpy sofa in the common room. “Still don’t trust him. Probably never will.”

They’d been chatting by the fire late one evening as an autumnal fog was creeping over the castle. Their remaining peers peeled off for bed until it was just the three of them, and Hermione wondered out loud how many Slytherins had stayed for the reconstruction. She imagined a rather empty Slytherin common room. Was Draco alone down there?

Harry had remained pensive on the matter, neither showing forgiveness nor sharing in Ron’s disdain. Hermione suspected he felt a sort of dyadic bond with Draco. Perhaps a bit of obligation to respect this shift in alliance from his former nemesis.

She herself had felt… sympathetic? Affectionate? Forgiving? She wasn’t sure, but she understood the magnitude of the risk he’d taken in that moment. He probably alienated almost everyone he had in his life with that single flick of his wand.

Hermione snapped back into reality as they reached the Divination tower. She could feel Draco behind her as they climbed up the ladder one by one.

* * *

“Right, Arthur let’s have you with Ron, Harry, and Luna. You four can levitate the beams up one by one,” Remus ordered.

The Divination tower was in ruins. The entire South facing wall had been blasted away, leaving a gaping hole and a nice view of the Black Lake. The rubble had been moved to the opposite side for future use, and all the remaining furniture brought down to make room for repairs.

Hermione peered over the edge to see a stack of thick, tar-covered beams on the ground below. She shivered from the height and withdrew, colliding with someone behind her. A cold hand flew to the small of her back for a fleeting moment, steadying her balance before it pulled away. She turned to see Malfoy. A latent shiver flitted up her spine to the place where his hand had been.

“Sorry,” was all he muttered.

“Ah, Hermione, Draco,” Remus chimed, turning on the pair before she could respond. “You can do the bolts.”

He shoved a box of bolts the size of carrots in Hermione’s arms. Remus, being the patient, wizened man that he was, had spent the summer attempting to integrate Draco wherever he’d shown a willingness. He was one of the few to extend an olive branch when most others were content to ignore his existence.

“Right,” she said, acquiescing.

“You’ll have to bore a hole on all four sides first, angling down of course, and then just drive them in. A gentle _Defodio_ charm should do the trick if you’re precise enough.”

“Got it.”

Draco only nodded his understanding.

She eyed him from the side trying not to make eye contact, and he did the same. Somewhere in the distance she could hear Ron grumbling in their direction. They watched silently as the first beam levitated into place, and set to work when it was their turn.

The room buzzed with progress for the next few hours, everyone doing their part to rebuild Sybill’s classroom. Molly and Tonks secured the rafters above while the others continued levitating beams into place. Hermione and Draco bored holes and screwed bolts in silence, speaking only to make sure their respective sides were aligned.

He had an unusual calmness about him. He seemed, she observed, almost humble. Almost. But she could tell it was buried beneath a layer of anger. Or perhaps that was hurt?

It occurred to her, while watching him carefully drill a bolt into place with his wand, that she hadn’t spent much time noticing him during school. Not since their first year, really, when they’d first met on the grand staircase waiting for McGonagall to fetch them for the sorting. And maybe a little after she’d sucker punched him in third year, just to make sure he’d healed okay.

He’d grown. His eyes were gray as the sea, and his jawline was sharp as a cliff’s edge. His shoulders had broadened nicely over the years, and he seemed to move with a sleek precision. Where did that come from, she wondered. Her eyes wandered down the rippling lines in his arms, defined even further by his rolled up sleeves, until she met the Dark Mark on his forearm. A sobering reminder of what he’d been through. Things he’d done. War crimes she probably didn’t even know of.

“Granger.”

His voice snapped her back into reality.

“He said we’re finished for the day.”

She looked down, realizing she’d stalled on her task, and hastily drove the final bolt into the beam with a wave of her wand. When she moved to stand up, an open hand appeared in her field of vision. She blinked up, hesitating for a moment, before meeting his stone-colored gaze. It was a foreign gesture, coming from Draco Malfoy. For half a second, she wondered if he might toss her over the still-exposed ledge of the tower if she took it.

She thought better of herself. He’d had all afternoon to chuck her off the Divination tower if that’s what he wanted, and he hadn’t done it so far. She took his hand and a surprisingly strong grip pulled her up to stand beside him.

* * *

Hermione felt a cold, gentle hand reach to support her elbow as she descended the North tower ladder. She whipped her head around, eyes darting to Malfoy’s in a moment of shock. A prickle of electricity shot up her arm and she withdrew from his touch. He instantly recoiled, and she could see it flash in his eyes. Regret. He hastily turned and started walking away.

She stood for a moment, puzzled. Why had he reached for her? For Merlin’s sake, she’d fought in a _war_. She was perfectly capable of climbing down a ladder, even if she hadn’t set foot in the Divination tower since third year. She watched his shoulders twitch as he huffed off and made for the Great Hall. Without thinking twice, she caught up to him. He side-eyed her cautiously.

“Going home for Christmas?” she offered. The most neutral thing she could think of in the moment.

As soon as the question was out, she regretted it. After Kingsley was appointed Minister of Magic over summer, his first order had been to imprison the remaining Death Eaters. Draco had been through a trial with the Wizengamot like the rest of them, but because he was inducted while underage, he was cleared of all charges. Lucius and Narcissa, however, both received life sentences in Azkaban. Something about high treason and accessory to mass murder. With Bellatrix dead, she suspected he had no one to go home to. And the last time he’d been home, Voldemort was using Malfoy Manor as headquarters. The whole place was stained with death and torture.

“Yeah,” he nodded bluntly. He was being protective.

Hermione paused. “I’m sorry… about your parents.”

“Why? They deserved it,” he shot back. His eyes flitted to her right arm, where they both knew what had been scarred into her skin at Malfoy Manor.

“They’re still your parents.” She thought of her own mum and dad whom she’d relegated to Australia.

“It’s no matter. I’m technically Head of House now that they’re in Azkaban for life. I can do whatever I want with the place.”

Silence hung for a moment, and then…

“What about you? Back to your muggle parents, I expect?”

“No, they’re…” she trailed off. She didn’t trust him enough to let their circumstances slip in casual conversation. “I’m going to The Burrow with everyone else.”

“Right.” She could hear the irritation in his voice. Maybe an edge of envy?

They reached the Great Hall and he headed for the Slytherin table without a word. Old habits die hard. Hermione took a seat with Ron, Harry, and Ginny for dinner.

Ron eyed her with reproach. “What were you doing with Malfoy?” he scathed.

“Walking, Ronald.”

He turned back to his gravy and mash.

They sat talking and eating, food reappearing as they dished up seconds. The usual routine of the last seven months. Each morning they were assigned a project for the day, usually by Remus or Minerva: cleaning up a classroom, moving rubble, rebuilding a structure, replanting the herbology gardens. They’d spent a whole week repairing and re-hanging portraits, and the moving staircases had taken quite a large team and a lot of engineering to mend. But they were finally reaching the end of the reconstruction. They were to finish by Christmas, in time for students to return for second term, and Molly Weasley insisted that everyone and anyone come to The Burrow to celebrate.

There was a newfound sense of family after the battle. Everyone had lost someone, and those who remained were forever bonded by the horrors they experienced that day--that year, really. Blood ties didn’t matter so much anymore. Christmas was to be a place for everyone to feel at home, even if it wasn’t theirs.

Molly appeared at their table and broke the conversation.

“Has everyone been invited to Christmas, you four? I’m taking a final count.”

“Yes mum,” Ron rolled his eyes.

“Ronald, I mean everyone.” Mrs. Weasley began rattling off names from her list.

“Parvati? Colin? Madam Hooch and Pomona? What about Justin Finch-Fletchley and the rest of the Hufflepuffs? And Cormac McLaggen?”

Ron smirked across the table at Hermione. She rolled her eyes. Thankfully, too much had happened between now and sixth year, when that slimy cad had tried to seduce her over Slug Club dinner, for her to be bothered by him anymore.

“And Draco? Has anyone invited him yet?”

Ron dropped his fork. Harry looked up from the Daily Prophet.

“Mum have you gone mental? We’re not having a reformed Death Eater at our house for holiday! Especially not him.”

“Ronald Weasley, you invite him or I’ll have him sleeping in your room and you’ll be out back with the mandrakes.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“I’ll do it,” Hermione interrupted. And before anyone could object she was halfway across the Great Hall.

* * *

Songs: 

[Shot At The Night by The Killers](https://open.spotify.com/track/2aZ2Co4NeQRsqWcU930zHT?si=mmjnJ3nqTHWJQDjd91_uXQ)


	2. Head of House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse from Draco's perspective.

Draco could feel someone standing behind him. He looked up from his book to find a mane of curly hair and two piercing brown eyes staring down at him. He just stared back, waiting for whatever she had to say.

“Um, Mrs. Weasley, Molly, would like you to know you’re invited to The Burrow for Christmas.”

Her voice was crystal and firm, but he could tell she was uneasy.

“Oh.” He had to admit, despite a lifetime of learned revulsion for the Weasley family, he couldn’t help but envy that everyone would be enjoying a holiday together while he returned to an empty manor.

He could tell she was studying him closely for a reaction.

“Anything else, Granger?” he spat back. Why was he like that? She was only being kind.

“You should come,” she urged, this time with an unfamiliar gentleness.

He paused to consider. In his head he conjured an image of The Burrow, imagining what it might be like. Crowded, full of mismatching people and things probably, warm, loud. Cozy, perhaps? What was that like? And she’d be there, too. Then he thought of the dark, soulless manor that was once his home. Cold, hollow, tainted. Empty.

He scoffed. “Why? So I can ruin everyone’s Christmas?”

“There’ll be so many people there, no one will pay any mind. If that’s what you want.”

A long pause hung between them as he considered.

“Fine. Yeah. I’ll come.” He panicked a little as the words came out, and he caught her eyebrows flick up. She was as surprised as he was.

“Great.” Her voice pitched a little higher than normal and she abruptly vanished, leaving a waft of bergamot and jasmine in her wake. He watched her curls dance across her back.

As she returned to her seat he saw Weasley’s jaw drop and his cheeks turn red. Potter shot a glance across the hall in his direction, and he suddenly realized the full weight of what he’d agreed to. Close, inescapable time with a house full of people who loathed him; who thought he was a traitor. And he was, in a way. Maybe this was a huge mistake.

He tossed back the last of his pumpkin juice and swiftly left the hall.

* * *

Dusk was waxing into nighttime as Draco rummaged through the desk he’d claimed for himself in the Slytherin common room. With only a handful of surviving Slytherins who stayed behind to rebuild, they’d dispensed with the etiquette of shared space and made the place their own. He must have forgotten his book at dinner.

Heaving a sigh, he pulled on a forest green jumper and headed upstairs toward the Great Hall. He could hear a few muffled voices still lingering after dessert, and he entered to find the older Order members gathered around the far end of Ravenclaw table having a digestif.

“Molly, there’s nearly a hundred people on this list. I just don’t see how we’ll fit everyone,” came Arthur Weasley’s fatherly tone. “We can’t host half the school.”

“Arthur, these children have been through a _war_. They’ve lost half their friends and family. Some of them have nowhere to go. We _will_ host a proper Christmas and I won’t hear otherwise.”

“What if we had it at Grimmauld Place?” came another voice.

Draco knew her name was Tonks. Her hair was pulsating between orange and violet, and he’d seen her hex Peeves a few times over summer. They’d never really spoken, but she seemed like the only one whose company he might genuinely enjoy.

“Oh darling, I can’t stand the thought of Grimmauld Place right now,” came Remus’ voice.

“It’s even smaller than The Burrow,” Minerva added. “I’d say we should have it at the school, but everyone’s sick of this place. We could all use a change of scenery to freshen the mind.”

Draco searched the Slytherin table while he listened. When he concluded the book was nowhere to be found, he made to leave. Perhaps he could decline his invitation to lighten the load. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go anyways. But the image of returning to his cold, empty home floated back into his mind. It filled him with dread, and frankly, a bit of anxiety. For the first time, he wished Malfoy Manor were different.

Then an idea struck him.

Stupid. No one would go for it. But maybe? Why not try. He was the Head of House now anyways. He could do whatever he wanted, and there was no one to stop him.

He turned around, and the voices hushed as he approached. He suddenly felt like a child requesting an audience at the adult’s table, but he shook the thought. He wasn’t a child anymore. Not since the war. And his newfound, forced independence meant he couldn’t remain a child even if he wanted to. If he was Master of his family’s manor now, he had to start acting it.

“Er, I couldn’t help but overhear.”

Tonks and Arthur eyed him guardedly. Minerva remained stoic as she always did with students. It was Molly who leaned in and offered a welcome.

“Yes, dear?” she smiled warmly.

“Erm,” he started again. “I could offer… You could use Malfoy Manor. If you want.” He paused to read the room. All eyes were on him, and they were carefully, cautiously assessing his offer.

He continued. “With my parents in Azkaban, I’m technically Head of House. There’s no one there but the elves anymore. I’d rather the place just get used. I know it’s… I know what happened there is…”

He didn’t know what to say about what had happened there. Hermione had been tortured. Luna and Ollivander had been held captive. It’s where the Death Eaters had strategized to take down Hogwarts and the Ministry.

“You know,” Remus said gently, rolling the concept around, “it might not be a bad idea.”

“It’s certainly spacious enough,” McGonagall conceded curtly.

Arthur was the first to dissent. “Draco, my boy, we do appreciate that. I’m just not sure it’d be so comfortable for everyone after… ” he trailed off.

“Right,” said Draco.

A pregnant pause hung in the air, everyone seeming to deliberate in their minds, until Molly broke the silence.

“On the contrary Arthur, I think we could make it do quite nicely. I’m sure the place needs some… warming up after being occupied for so long,” she said in a decidedly matter of fact tone.

“It’s a stupid idea,” shot Tonks. “Nobody trusts you, and nobody wants to spend their holiday in the house where Voldemort lived.”

A dark pause washed over the room.

“But Molly’s right,” she continued. “We need the space, and we can fix it up. Probably needs a good clean anyhow. We’d be doing you a favor, clearing the place of all that death and Dark Magic.”

Remus shot a look at Tonks, and looked around the table for a silent consensus. “I think what we mean is, that’s very gracious of you, Draco. Courageous, I might add,” giving a nod of respect. “It’s a splendid idea and I think we should do it.”

The others nodded silently.

“Right then, I’ll send an owl.”

Something swelled inside him for a moment. Pride? Belonging?

* * *

Songs: 

[Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby by Cigarettes After Sex](https://open.spotify.com/track/3GhsBdS9ulPK3KCdwHRPhG?si=Hp70Eo_XSrSqe5x1XuL71A)


	3. Underwater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione visits the Slytherin common room to return Draco's book.

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing tonight. George was pouring butterbeer, the fire was roaring, Romulus & The Wolves played on a gramophone somewhere in the corner, and everyone was placing bets on Ron and Luna’s chess match. If she let herself forget for a moment, it was almost as if the war never happened. But then she looked over at Parvati and remembered Padma. She watched Colin giggling as he learned to handle his butterbeer and remembered Dennis. She caught George’s eye as he held out the tankard offering her another round, and she remembered Fred. They were all the same people she’d grown up with, but everyone was different now.

Hermione shook her head no, sipped the last of her drink, and pulled a book out of her satchel. She had other plans tonight. She slipped through the portrait of the Fat Lady snoozing peacefully in her frame, and set off for the dungeons.

It was a copy of International Magical Alliances of the 20th Century. She couldn’t decide what was more peculiar, the choice of book or the revelation that Malfoy read for leisure.

The walk downstairs felt warm in the dim candlelight, and she sensed the butterbeer start to take hold. The castle was beginning to feel back to its old self again after half a year of repairs. It was...comforting. Or maybe that was the butterbeer talking.

She reached the stone door of the dungeon and hesitated. She’d never called on anyone in the Slytherin dormitory before, but she assumed it worked the same as the others.

“I’m here to see Draco Malfoy,” she requested, to nothing in particular except the runes inscribed around the door frame.

A long pause. Maybe that’s not how it’s done. Or maybe he wasn’t there.

She waited a moment until a soft set of footsteps echoed up the stairwell and the door swung open.

“Granger?”

His pupils were dilated, flaxen hair hung low on his brow. And was that? The faint scent of butterscotch wafted her way. So he’d been drinking tonight too.

“You left this at dinner.” She thrust the book out towards him.

He took it and their hands met for a moment. Her fingers sparked at his touch. She wasn’t used to physical contact these days.

“Thanks,” he said coldly.

“It looks interesting.”

“Just… something I picked up.”

“International Magical Alliances?” She quirked her brow. “Not really light reading.”

“None of your business though, is it Granger?” he shot back.

She sighed, defeated. That was her cue. As she turned to leave she wondered if he’d always be so sharp and unwelcoming.

“Sorry, I-...” he started. “It’s… it’s for a position I’m applying for. An apprenticeship in the Department for International Magical Co-operation.”

“Oh!” she was taken aback. It never occurred to her that he might have occupational aspirations outside of… making a career of being a complete and total prick.

“I didn’t know you cared for international relations. How’s the application?”

This question was partly to make conversation, but also partly selfish. She herself had applied and been accepted to a post as a Page for the Wizengamot starting in the new year, and she was curious to see how it measured up.

“Long.” He paused, seeming to decide how much he wanted to divulge; how open he was willing to be. “I’m not entirely sure I’ve written it well enough, though.” He scratched the back of his head nervously.

She studied him for a long moment. She could go back to the Gryffindor common room and continue the night, but the butterbeer had made her impulsive and she wanted to indulge.

“I could take a look. If you want.”

He regarded her cautiously, then leaned hard against the stone door so it opened all the way. She slid past him, a little too close for comfort in the narrow doorway, and trotted down the stairs.

* * *

She’d never actually been in the Slytherin common room, given how horribly wrong her polyjuice potion had gone in second year. Instead of looking onto the grounds, the view from the windows was underwater, looking directly into the Black Lake. She made for them without thinking. Through the murky waters she could see a bed of kelp flowers, a puce colored cluster of grindylows, and perhaps the tail of a merperson in the distance. The surface of the lake lapped hungrily at the top of the soaring windows.

“If the de-pressurizing charms ever wear out, we’re fucked,” he joked, sipping from a half empty bottle. It surprised her. She’d never heard him joke except to harass Ron and Harry, or her, on occasion. He joined her at the window, offering an unopened bottle of butterbeer.

“I knew it was underwater, I just never thought…”

“It was actually underwater?” he smirked.

She concentrated through the glass, trying not to notice how close he was standing. She expected the proximity to feel threatening, and a few years ago it might have, but instead it just felt calm. Unusually calm, for someone who just lost their parents and defected from the regime of a Dark Lord. The war had made her less afraid, and it apparently made him less bitter. As if a weight had lifted.

She turned towards the coffee table where a handful of parchment and quills were scattered.

“Yeah, so… that’s it,” he mumbled, scratching the back of head again. Must be a nervous tic. She’d never noticed but then again, he wasn’t one to let his guard down.

She sat down on the floor opposite the sofa and pulled his writings toward her. It felt incredibly personal, invasive, almost. She took another swig. If you’d told her a year ago she’d be in Draco Malfoy’s dormitory drinking butterbeer and editing his job application, she’d have probably hexed you. How things change so quickly.

She pored over his notes, and for once it was refreshing to have an already completed essay to work with. Looking back, she never should have let the boys use her homework like they did. She snatched the nearest quill and started marking up the page.

* * *

The fireplace had dwindled down to embers. Millicent Bullstrode and Marcus Flint passed through hours ago on their way to bed, shooting them both a look of disapproval.

“What if we use this alliance with Pakistan in 1949 as an example?” Draco asked, handing the book down to her from his perch on the sofa. Hermione moved to the other side of the coffee table three butterbeers ago. She peered down at the passage. Draco had pulled a few books from the shelves for reference, and they were now surrounded on all sides by notes, crumpled parchment, and flayed open tomes. Apparently, they both did some of their best work while drunk.

“YES! That’s brilliant, actually,” she blurted excitedly, but they were both a little too drunk to notice. She crawled up on the sofa and tugged at his arm to show him. “I think this bit right here would fit nicely with your point about long-range negotiations.” It should have intrigued her, how intellectual he’d proven to be in the last few hours, but time had passed so easily between them she forgot to pay attention.

He reached across her for the parchment and scratched a note into the margin, and suddenly he was very close. So very close. She couldn’t help but notice he smelled like sage and sweetgrass. Bittersweet.

Their eyes met, stone and earth locked together for a moment in a drunken haze. The air stilled around them, and she found him searching her face, and she his. Who was this man before her? Seven years they’d known _of_ each other, but never really _known_ each other. Could he really be as awful as they’d all thought? Perhaps the war, the shift in allegiance, had changed him more than she knew.

His hand shifted toward her but he immediately drew it back. In the same moment something in her stirred, lurched forward wanting to meet him. They both shattered the moment and turned back to the scrolls in front of them. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Draco’s hand reaching for the back of his head.

* * *

Hermione jolted awake, drawing a sharp breath. Her eyes shot around in a panic: black sofa, parchment everywhere, the stale scent of butterscotch alcohol, books scattered on the table. Was that water in the windows? She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and found the clock above the mantel. 6:30 in the morning. An emerald green blanket had been draped over her at some point. She was beginning to put the pieces back together, and all she knew was she had to get out of the Slytherin dormitory.

She pulled on her shoes. Had she taken those off? Or had Draco? Oh god. Draco. Her mind rifled through the scenes she remembered from last night. Research, editing, parchment after parchment, butterbeer, lots of butterbeer, staring into Malfoy’s eyes for a few heartbeats too long, a shot of firewhisky, more editing, sleep?

She ran up the stairs, out the stone doorway, and fled to the Great Hall for an early breakfast. She couldn’t be caught sneaking back into Gryffindor tower at this hour. Not because it was against the rules. Minerva let everyone shed the rules since it was sixth years and above who stayed for the reconstruction, hence the drinking and fraternizing anywhere in the castle. But she knew she’d be interrogated and she had no answers to give.

“Good morning dear, you’re up early!” Mrs. Weasley crooned. Hermione gave a slight nod as she reached for a teapot on the dining table. The Great Hall was just beginning to stir to life for the day.

“I wanted to speak with you for a moment, dear.”

Hermione took a seat next to Molly at Hufflepuff table, away from earshot. “Of course, Molly,” she yawned. Truthfully she wasn’t ready for a conversation this early, but she obliged.

“As you may have guessed, the Christmas holiday plans have grown quite out of hand. Everyone needs a good celebration, and we’ve been looking for somewhere to host that’s suitable and, well, Draco has offered up Malfoy Manor.”

Hermione froze, her teacup halting at her lips. Any butterbeer that remained in her system evaporated.

“I know you had a particularly awful time there, and I wouldn’t want you to feel…”

She stopped listening. Christmas? At Malfoy Manor? What an odd, unfathomable event. Her stomach turned for a moment, the image of Bellatrix looming over her as she screamed in agony filled her vision. But then another image came to the forefront: sitting next to Draco last night, scratching out notes and flipping through books together by the fireside. His hand on her back as she stumbled away from the ledge in the Divination tower. The soft, inviting smell of sage and sweetgrass.

Draco Malfoy, she was beginning to learn, was not Lucius. He was not Narcissa, or Bellatrix, or even a Death Eater. And he most certainly wasn’t Voldemort. He was someone else. Someone who cast a disarming spell when he could have joined the Dark Lord. Someone who stayed with his schoolmates to fix up the castle. Someone who was asking for a chance.

“It's alright,” she said.

* * *

Songs:

[Body Gold by Oh Wonder](https://open.spotify.com/track/0IIdoxwlGBHhNZQkbYF3yD?si=zivpttIgSTuwhrfUdMFqyw)

[Careless Whisper by Nataly Dawn](https://open.spotify.com/track/5NvfpK2IQu6DlfE9I2BbOI?si=P8V0mhSkT32azyWhJhXJHw)


	4. Nothing Matters, Just the Now

“I’m staying at The Burrow. I refuse.”

“Ronald, they’re sending a group ahead of time to clean it up proper. I’m sure it’ll be perfectly… nice.”

“Nice?! Hermione, Bellatrix tortured you there! Fred’s dead because of her! She held Luna hostage in the dungeon! How could you even consider going there for holiday?!”

“Ron he defected. In the middle of battle. He’s lost everything, and he abandoned Voldemort and his parents, and lost them in the process. And he’s here. He stayed.”

It had been this way for days. Once the news got around that Christmas would be held at Malfoy Manor it was all anyone could talk about. Draco kept to himself, not wanting the notoriety. Hermione and Ron had been at each other’s throats. Harry had remained mostly mum until…

“I don’t like it, but I think Hermione’s right. Malfoy was indoctrinated by his family, his own parents. But he changed allegiance in the middle of a war. And he’s here, now, helping us rebuild the castle.”

Ron and Hermione fell silent.

“He was cleared of all charges,” he continued. “And he’s asking for a chance.”

Ron gawked, shot Harry and Hermione the filthiest scowl, and stomped off towards the courtyard.

“He’ll come ‘round,” she said wistfully when he was a safe distance away. “He always does.”

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, Molly visited their table again.

“Alright you lot, we’re gathering a group to go to Malfoy Manor this Saturday and start making preparations for Christmas. We’ve got a hundred people coming, I want it spit-spot. Luna, George, Hermione, Harry, you’ll go with me, Arthur, Filius, and a few others. And Draco, of course. Minerva will stay here with Remus, Tonks, Hagrid and the others to finish the last of the repairs. We’ll go by portkey at 8 o’clock.”

“What, and leave me here by myself?” Ron whined.

“Would you rather come with, then?” Molly shot back.

Ron slumped in his seat, glaring.

“Remus needs you to help finish the North tower.” She turned back to the rest of the group. “Now, I know you’ve all been through a lot, and I know Draco has a complicated history, but he’s been kind enough to offer his home. I want you all to give him a chance and help rid this place of its… darker days.”

The group nodded a silent, begrudging consent.

“Mum, can I go as well?” asked Ginny.

If Molly was surprised, she didn’t show it. “Of course, Ginny.”

Hermione watched Harry’s cheeks flush as he caught Ginny’s eye. She knew there was only one reason Ginny would want to willingly spend an extra few days at Malfoy Manor.

As she watched Molly leave she caught Draco’s eye at the Slytherin table. By now he must know who was meant to be coming to the manor ahead of time. Her stomach dropped as she realized what it all meant. A week of living at Malfoy Manor, with Draco and an assortment of her closest friends. The idea was completely foregin.

Malfoy’s brow arched back at her and she swiveled back to the table, realizing how long she’d been staring.

* * *

The Divination tower was filled with the sounds of scraping and clattering as they laid brick and mortar along the framework they’d built last week. Hermione and Draco worked side by side on the East wall, him spreading mortar and her levitating each brick into place. The tower was nearly finished.

“I’m coming,” she blurted, completely without context.

His hands paused, and he shot her a confused look that might have transformed into a smirk if he hadn’t stopped himself.

“To your… to the manor. To help before the holiday.”

He only nodded, seeming unsure of what to say.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a minute, equally out of context.

It was her turn to pause.

“I’m sorry. About my aunt. And your arm. And... “ he looked up and harnessed her eyes in his. “I’m sorry,” he finished. He didn’t look away, and the feeling it gave her was arresting.

Something flooded through her. Was it relief? Reprieve? How do you apologize for something so traumatic, something that will surely haunt her for the rest of her life. Something he didn’t even do himself, but that he knew was inextricably linked to him. As his words fell onto her, she felt a weight--albeit small--gently ease off her heart. Though no amount of apologies could undo the past, they could shift the tides of the future.

“If there’s anything you need… to make it easier, just… say something. Or tell one of the elves,” he finished brusquely, trying to shroud the flicker of compassion he’d just revealed.

She held him for a long pause. “Thank you,” she finally said.

They resumed laying brick in silence.

“What’s it like?’ she asked.

Draco stopped again. “The manor?”

“Yeah. Only I… All I remember is… ”

An awkward pause as they both recalled the horrifying memories of last year.

“Right. Erm, it’s large.”

“I noticed.”

“There’s an orchard,” he offered.

What an odd thing to point out. It must have meant something to him.

“And a ballroom. And more bedrooms than I can remember.” He seemed to be sorting through features in his mind he thought were worth mentioning. “There’s a stable and a few winged horses, a forest, a small pond. And a library.”

She perked up at that last bit. The corner of his mouth twitched up, almost a smile if he’d let it.

He hesitated for a moment.

“I’ll show you.”

* * *

“Have you still got my scarf?” Ginny asked, shuffling through her drawers as they packed.

“Oh yeah, sorry Gin.” Hermione fished it out of her trunk and tossed the red and gold scarf across the girls dormitory.

“Bizarre, isn’t it?” Ginny mused after a while. “Can you believe it? Christmas… at Malfoy’s. After everything.”

Hermione didn’t quite know how to respond. She wasn’t sure how anyone would take the news that not only was she talking to Draco in casual conversation, but that she’d spent an entire evening with him writing and getting drunk in the Slytherin common room.

“It is odd,” she started. “I would never have agreed to it. But I dunno, the war just changed everything so much. Places don’t feel so meaningful anymore. It’s like the only thing that matters now is just… the now.”

Ginny nodded. She felt it too.

“Hermione do you… have you talked... to Draco much?” she hedged.

Her stomach dropped ever so slightly.

“Only, I just wondered. I’ve seen you look at him sometimes…”

Hermione had never really been close to Ginny, for no other reason than their respective occupations never seemed to overlap much. But in that moment she suddenly felt a deep respect for how quietly perceptive and caring Ginny was. She sighed. No use lying, and she could use someone to talk to.

“We’ve been working on the North tower together. And I sort of… well I… fell asleep. In the Slytherin common room last week.”

Ginny’s jaw dropped and her eyebrows shot skyward. To her surprise, a huge grin spread across her face.

“Hermione!” she gasped, half laughing, half aghast.

“Honestly, Gin, I don’t know what came over me. I was returning his book, and then I was helping him edit a job application, and then we were drinking a lot of butterbeer, and then I fell asleep. And the strangest thing is? He wasn’t completely awful.”

She looked over at Ginny, who was watching her like a hawk.

“Well, I’d say I’m surprised, but nothing is really surprising anymore,” she finally said.

“Don’t tell Ron or Harry, they’ll never speak to me again.”

“Of course. Your secret’s safe with me.”

They finished packing and made their way downstairs to the Great Hall. A small group was congregating near the Headmaster’s podium when they arrived.

“Right then, everyone ready?” Arthur said, ushering the group together.

Two portkeys had been arranged to take them all to Malfoy Manor. They all gathered around a blue velvet pillow and a silver candelabra, trunks in tow.

“We’ll be along abou’ Christmas Eve then, Arthur, with the rest of this lot,” Hagrid called out, gesturing back to the remaining students, professors, and Order members gathering for Saturday dinner in the Hall. “Anything you need before then, jus’ send an owl.”

Hagrid had made it clear he wasn’t keen on Christmas at the Malfoy’s, and was hovering around the departing group to check everything. He kept inspecting Draco, as if he suspected he’d portkey them to the Arctic and leave them for dead, or worse.

“Right ho, Hagrid. We’ll be off then,” came Arthur’s cheerful voice from the group squished around the pillow.

Hermione squeezed herself into the circle around the candelabra with Luna, Harry, Ginny, Pansy, Dean, and Molly. They all glanced around the circle at each other, seeming to share a similar undertone of anxiety. Luna nodded encouragingly, and that seemed to help settle everyone. She felt another body slide in behind her, and the scent of sage filled her palate. She could feel the heat radiating off him, and a shiver ran up the skin on her back. Harry eyed him cautiously from the other side of the circle.

“On my count then,” came Arthur’s voice from the other circle. “Three, two, one…”

All hands reached for the pillow and she instantly felt her entire body jolt; the unpleasantly familiar sensation of traveling by portkey. Her stomach lurched as she was enveloped by the twisting rush of her own body. Somewhere in the seconds-long journey, she felt a hand grip protectively at her waist.

The air was suddenly cold and still around her. It smelled of frost and the sweet decay of fallen tree leaves. She opened her eyes and the hand slipped out from her side. A looming, sandstone mansion stood before her. Arched windows lined the exterior, and the Gothic pitched roofs pierced the sky. A hedgemaze flanked either side of the drive leading up to a dozen marble steps and a colonnaded porch. Everything was coated in a crystal layer of frost. It was eerie, haunting, and devastatingly elegant all at the same time.

She turned to glance at Draco. He avoided her eyes and made for the stairs. The groups followed, and when he reached the main doors he turned. It was an odd dynamic. Draco, welcoming a group of peers who only a few months ago thought he was a Death Eater, and older witches and wizards who’d seen so much more than him.

“Um…” he faltered, sensing the awkwardness of the situation. “Right then. Take any room you like. And do whatever you want with the place. I don’t mind.”

It seemed, Hermione thought, it was his way of asking them to help shed this cursed house of its former darkness; to show that he was forfeiting his past life, handing it over to them as a sort of penance.  
Molly came forward and put an encouraging hand on his shoulder. “Very kind of you, dear,” she smiled warmly.

Hermione caught his eye and let her lips curl upward into a half smile. He held her for a moment with a guarded expression, then turned, and with a swish of his wand the double doors flung open.

* * *

Songs: 

[You've Got the Kind of Nerve I like by Tiny Ruins](https://open.spotify.com/track/7ismASEUm84PhVGXlRnp6S?si=Ayz3BvyeQ5u_qKj_fpwI1g)


	5. Midnight Sonata

Hermione stepped into the foyer, eyes drinking in the space. It felt ghostly, like a dementor had just glided through. The air was chilled and stale, having been uninhabited for so long. It smelled of wet stone, aged wood, and though she knew it was her imagination, she could almost smell the fear from this house’s victims dripping off the walls. She shuddered.

Her eyes scanned the obsidian floor, salted with white Carrara marble diamonds. The grand staircase straight ahead cleaved to either side, revealing dark wood paneling and soaring gothic windows that let in the only light. Portraits of the Malfoy and Black families loomed down on the visitors, glaring judiciously. Somehow, for all its grim qualities it was also stunning.

“There’s bedrooms to the East and West, the ballroom is North on the other side of the staircase, kitchen is next to the ballroom and dining hall. We have three elves, Topsy, Dotty, and Lotty. Summon them for whatever you need. Dinner is at nine. Otherwise, just… make yourselves at home,” finished Malfoy, hand reaching nervously for the nape of his neck.

She could tell he had to force that last bit off his tongue; that it felt unfamiliar and foreign to a boy who’d spent his entire life hating the people he was now trying to welcome into his home.

“Right then everyone, tomorrow morning, 9 o’clock sharp, the work begins!” said Arthur cheerily, his familiar enthusiasm returning for the first time in recent memory.

Harry, Ginny, Luna and her exchanged readying glances and made their way upstairs with their trunks. The rest of the group dispersed to find their own corners of the house to take up residence in.

Hermione picked a modest sized room on the West end. The walls were lined with emerald damask and it was comfortably furnished with a dark four-poster bed, fireplace, bureau, and small marble credenza. A portrait of a stern looking woman in a wimple peered curiously down at her. The inscription on the frame told her it was Cassiopeia Black.

She loaded the contents of her trunk into the bureau and flopped on the bed. If they were staying here almost a week, she may as well. She had to admit, it was disorienting to be sleeping as a guest in the same house she was tortured so violently in, that Voldemort had occupied, that Death Eaters had used as a safe haven. She sat up and wandered to the window.

Her view faced what appeared to be a stone walled garden, looking barren and sparse as winter had set in. A furlong away was the orchard, and to the North she could see a small pond at the edge of a forest.

“You coming?” Harry’s voice popped from the doorway. He paused, noticing her introspecting. “You alright Hermione? Bit eerie, being here.”

“I’m fine I think,” she replied. “You’re taking this awfully well though, given you’ve hated him since first year. What’s that about?”

He leaned against the door frame and she was reminded why they were best friends. They always allowed each other to be their most honest selves. No facades, no pretense.

“You know, I don’t think I actually hate him. Sure, he was cruel and awful growing up, but I would be too if I had parents like that.”

Cassiopeia grumbled in protest from her portrait at the sleight on her family.

“You always see things with such a clear head,” he continued. “I admire that about you. And as much as it’s hard for me to accept, I think you might be right about him. The past doesn’t matter as much.”

She smiled fondly at his proclamation. “We’ll see, won’t we,” she said, and they headed down to the dining hall.

As predicted, the first half hour of dinner was entirely awkward. A misfit group of witches and wizards ranging from sixth years to battle-scarred adults, all under the hospitality of Draco Malfoy, in the former headquarters of the Dark Lord. But as soon as the ale started flowing the room eased, and by ten thirty there were raucous uproars coming from the far end of the table, a heated debate about the Chudley Cannons’ new Keeper in the center, and a biting card game at the other end.

Hermione was in the middle of the card game, trying not to laugh as Luna destroyed Bill with her hand. She studied the cards fanned between her fingers carefully, choosing her play with precision. She made her play with a devilish grin and both Luna and Bill’s faces instantly fell. She was one round from winning. Glancing up, she let herself enjoy the slowly warming feeling of her friends gathered together around the table, when she caught Draco’s eye.

He’d been watching her. The sudden flush of pink to his cheeks told her as much, but he didn’t look away, and neither did she. She felt her breath quicken involuntarily. He broke her gaze only to take a sip of his drink and chide George about the Cannons’ dwindling scores, before finding her eyes again across the table. It was her turn to blush.

“Skågen! Skågen!” declared someone in the background. “I win!”

Fleur’s sing-song voice tore her out of Draco’s gaze and into the game she’d apparently just lost. Damn, she’d been so close. She had to laugh, outwardly at her defeat, and inwardly at the butterflies filling her chest. Out of the corner of her eye she caught the faintest grin flash across Draco’s face before it disappeared behind a glass of ale.

* * *

As the evening wound down the guests dwindled off to bed, Hermione included. She lounged on her bed consumed by the only book she’d brought with her: Fundamentals of Precedent in Wizarding Law. It wasn’t terribly riveting, but she figured it would help her prepare for her position at the Wizengamot.

An hour passed and she felt the house quieting down, until the only sound was the occasional crackle from her hearth. She was nearly finished with her book when her ears perked up. She could have sworn she heard the faintest sound of a melody emanating from somewhere. Her ears strained as she tried to locate its origin. As she lay there, she was sure it was growing louder, just enough to be distinct. The clock on the credenza told her it was nearly midnight, but the sound was unmistakable and there was something about it she couldn’t resist.

Grabbing her wand, she pulled on a maroon Gryffindor jumper and wool socks and slipped out of her room. The halls were quiet, lit only by the sconces lining the walls. As she rounded the top of the stairs she could make out the tune. The melody was eerie and alluring, and she couldn’t quite place it. She followed it all the way down to the foyer and towards the East wing of the ground floor. Through the dark, arched corridor it was unmistakable now: a piano. Turning down a dark hallway she was pretty sure she’d located the source.

Sure enough, she peered through a small doorway on her right to see a figure hunched over a baby grand piano, clad in all black and crowned in platinum blond. She leaned against the doorframe listening. The song was beautiful. Slow, suspenseful, breaking at just the moment when the tension felt unbearable. She shifted, and the music abruptly vanished.

“Granger?”

“Sorry…” she said, startled she’d been caught. “I heard music and I couldn’t help… ”

“No, it’s alright.”

She entered the room and looking around, realized it was a library. Although it wasn’t grandiose, it was large enough to hold at least a thousand books. They lined the walls, floor to ceiling in the candlelight, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah, so, this is the library,” he said, hand flying sheepishly to the back of his head. “You can borrow anything you like. I’m sure you’ll make it through a dozen books by Christmas,” he said, rolling his eyes, and though it had come out harsh, she realized he’d meant it to tease her.

She gravitated to the nearest wall and started running her finger across the spines, curious what the Malfoy family kept in their collection.

“What were you playing?” she asked, eyeing the piano.

“Oh, um… a Veela sonata. It’s a… siren song, of sorts.”

She froze, hand resting on the spine of Greco-Roman Blood Magic, and threw him a sharp glance. So that explained why she’d been drawn to follow the sound.

He seemed to read her conclusion and hastily added, “My mum used to sing it to me.”

She relaxed a little, smiling. “Well, don’t stop on my account.”

She extracted the book on blood magic and curled up in a velvet cushioned chair in the corner. It was an extremely taboo subject she’d never been able to read much about. Books referencing blood magic were kept in the restricted section at Hogwarts because of how dangerous a practice it was, but tonight she was curious.

Draco resumed playing and a gentle, slowly building tune filled the air, shifting up in key every so often as she leafed through the pages. A peacefulness fell between them like it had in the Slytherin common room, but she could feel his eyes on her even as he played. At least ten minutes passed, and the comfortable silence they’d created took her by surprise when she finally noticed. Though her heart pounded every time their eyes crossed each other, she felt oddly calm in his presence.

“I didn’t know you played,” she finally said as he stroked the resolving note.

“Since I was ten. Mother insisted. Do you play?”

“No, never.”

Something in the pause that followed made her breathing turn shallow. Like the anticipation of opening a door and not knowing what monsters lay behind it. Without breaking his gaze she closed the book, wandlessly levitated it back to its shelf, and approached the piano bench knowing damn well she wasn’t going over there to learn piano. He slid aside and she took a seat. A sudden, overpowering magnetism began radiating off her skin.

“Here,” he reached in front of her and plucked two keys back and forth at mid-tempo. “Start with that.”

Her fingers replaced his and she wavered back and forth, the chime meeting her ears at her touch. Draco began to play a soft melody on his side and they watched each other to keep time.

“Ok now up a half-step,” he said. He eyed her from the side, as if seeking permission, and cautiously reached out to move her fingers across the keys. Hermione felt herself blink hard at the shock of his touch, but kept up her alternating pattern as instructed.

He played another few bars, eyes now glued to each other, but it wasn’t to keep time anymore.

“And up another half-step.” His hand covered hers this time as he guided her to the next notes. Her heart dropped and she felt the air rush faintly out of her lungs. His hand did not return to his side of the keys.

She looked down, studying his hand atop hers, weighing the moment. With careful intention, almost imperceptibly, she wove a finger into his and looked up to see his reaction. His midnight colored pupils had blown open--whether from the dim lighting or an unconscious desire to perceive every inch of her, she couldn’t tell--and she felt him take a quiet, shaky breath.

They regarded each other for what could have been an eternity but was more likely only a minute. She could see in his eyes he, too, was weighing the consequences; calculating the outcome, wanting to be sure.

Surprising herself, it was she who finally reached her free hand up to his jawline. He took her cue and instantly mirrored, threading his fingers through her hair at the back of her neck. Drawing her in closer his eyes searched her face for any final objection; any last recoil. She gave him none, and they closed in on each other.

A flood of heady warmth rushed through her senses as she drank in his lips. He was cold, and yet so warm. They were cautious, careful, brushing each other’s lips like a whisper, but it wasn’t out of decorum. The thought vaguely crossed her mind that they were both holding back not because they wanted to be polite, but because they were scared. She could feel the magnetic force between them growing stronger with every second they kissed. She was scared to discover just how powerful it might be, and she sensed he was too.

His nose brushed her cheek and after drinking in one last taste of his lips she pulled away, breathless. He dropped his forehead to hers for a moment, hands still tangled in her hair, and she could still smell his intoxicatingly sweet breath.

“Granger,” he whispered desperately.

And that’s all he had to say.

* * *

Songs:

[Nightshade by The Lumineers](https://open.spotify.com/track/5oo6NoLXLL2cT2PZSacAnB?si=DPbJyPdWQaWPhxvkaHz6jA)


	6. Star Lilies Don't Like to be Touched

She woke to a loud creak of the floor as someone outside made for the stairs. The clock on the credenza read seven in the morning. She sat up and glanced out the window to the foggy edge of the forest, reminding her she was in fact at Malfoy Manor. Her body felt oddly warm and relaxed, flush with the tinge of thrill, she thought, and then it all came rushing back to her.

She’d kissed Draco Malfoy last night.

The blood in her veins picked up its pace as her lips remembered how gentle he felt. A spark pulsed down her neck as her skin remembered the ghost of his hand. She released a sharp breath remembering how his gaze had sucked the air from her lungs; a dementor’s kiss of the most pleasurable kind.

She grasped blindly through her memory, searching for what it meant. Was it just a kiss? Where had it come from? Why on earth had she done it? Why had he done it? Then another thought presented itself.

She’d wanted to.

A rap at her door snatched her attention.

“Hermione, you coming to breakfast?”

“Yes!” she gasped, her surprise painfully obvious. “Just a minute.”

* * *

“Look sharp, Granger!” and she looked up just in time to catch a tart hurling at her like a snitch.

“GEORGE!” Molly scolded. “Cuppa tea, dear?”

“Please,” she mumbled, scanning the kitchen, which appeared quite lively this morning. George had moved on to flicking gooseberries at Colin Creevey across the stone counter. Harry and Ginny leaned against a cabinet, huddled tentatively close with their teacups. Molly had taken it upon herself to whip up a batch of breakfast tarts and tea with Dotty the elf, and Arthur, Luna, and Dean were scratching out a list of tasks for the day. Neville sauntered in and was hit with another of George’s flying tarts.

Her bleary eyes finally landed on Draco in the corner, light from the garden window spilling onto his face. His eyes locked on her like a vise, their secret hanging in the air between them. Two startled stags in a forest.

As she felt his ocean eyes drill into her, she thought he looked scared, concerned , satisfied, and hungry all at once. Did he regret it? Did she? His face was a tablet of runes: impossible to read without a cipher.

“Off we go then,” came Arthur’s voice, interrupting their wordless exchange, and just like they had at the castle, everyone trickled out of the kitchen to start their assignment for the day.

* * *

Hermione, Harry, and Ginny had finished clearing up the drawing room by noon. They’d repaired a shredded chesterfield sofa, cleaned up the dusty rugs and surfaces, and re-hung the paintings that had been hexed off the walls in the middle of what appeared to be a duel. They’d gathered that when the Ministry officials came to collect the Malfoys for Azkaban there must have been some resistance, apparently in the drawing room.

“Looking lovely, dears!” came Molly’s voice from the doorway. “Now, what say we give it a bit of Christmas cheer?”

She swished her wand and a vine of hollyberries serpentined itself across the mantle and window sill. Ginny stepped forward and cast a transfiguration spell, turning the pillows red and green with gold trim. Harry sent a garland of fir branches trimming the ceiling, and Hermione finished it all with a dusting of charmed snow and a wreath above the hearth.

“That’ll do just nicely,” said Molly. “Alright, off to the dining hall next. I need you to gather all the china and silver you can find.”

They met up with Neville and Luna and spent the rest of the day searching the cupboards for every dish and serving spoon on the premises, polishing until their wrists grew tired. When Arthur finally came to relieve them, the two couples dashed out of the room before Hermione could even ask where they were off to.

Oh. Probably off to have a good snog.

She sighed and finished buffing a silver platter, watching her image waver in its reflection. The thought had floated into her mind sometime that afternoon. She knew she’d have to face it at some point, and she’d rather get it over with. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and headed towards the ballroom by herself.

It was massive. Bigger than she remembered. Big enough to hold at least a hundred people. The walls were dark, worn stone that shadowed the whole room in a sinister light. Whoever worked on it today had thrust open the curtains, the bleak winter light spilling onto the slate floors. Snow was beginning to fall outside. A huge fireplace stood at the far end, crackling with a contradictory glow. She hadn’t even noticed it the last time she was here. A bit of garland had been hung and candles floated in the corners, the beginnings of holiday cheer starting to soften the edges of this cursed place. It almost felt warm; welcoming, even. She tilted her head to the ceiling. Above her hung two glittering chandeliers. So that’s what they’d probably worked on all day: repairing the chandelier that Dobby--sweet, loyal Dobby--had sent crashing to the ground to protect her from Bellatrix’s grasp.

She turned her gaze to the center of the room. Any ounce of warmth and holiday coziness she’d felt vanished. Her heart dropped into her stomach and her mind began to swirl. Her skin turned ice cold. In the center of the empty room she watched in her memory as Bellatrix pinned her to the ground, her thicket of hair shrouding Hermione’s face. She watched her arms flay out like a crucifix, cold from the stone floor as Bellatrix screamed in her face “What did you and your friends TAKE FROM MY VAULT?!”

She watched herself scream and writhe as the letters were carved into her arm one by one. A guttural scream filled her memory that she hadn’t known she could emit. Her heart began to pound and her breath tightened. A rush of fear flooded through her to the tips of her fingertips, deep and animalistic. The kind of fear only a few know; those who’ve seen their life in the clutches of a vengeful hand. The ballroom swam around her and she crumpled to her knees, letting out a gasp and sucking in a shaky breath to replace it.

“Granger?” came a voice from behind, calling her back to the room. It was cautious. Concerned.

A pair of shoes clicked toward her. She blinked hard and let out another gasp. A hand pressed in between her shoulder blades, jolting her back to reality.

Draco kneeled down to her level, but she shook his hand off.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU STOP HER!” she whirled on him, words seething out of her like a hex. She felt she might cry but her eyes were empty.

He withdrew, taken aback, hands surrendered. Fear and flash of shame spread across his face.

“Why didn’t you stop her,” she repeated, this time just a defeated whisper. She knew the answer before the words left her mouth, knew it was a fruitless question. She knew even if in some miraculous arc of redemption he’d tried to intervene, he would have been cursed into oblivion. She wasn’t even sure she needed him to answer the question at all, she just needed to get it out.

They stared at each other a long time, the quiet thickening between them. For a moment she thought he might defend himself. Or just leave. Thought he might return to his familiar malice and disdain.

Finally, he broke the silence.

“I… I wasn’t ready,” he breathed. “I was afraid.”

And suddenly, it crashed like a waterfall. She heaved--a sigh of relief or something like it--and dropped into his shoulders. His arms froze, surprised, before wrapping around her as the tears finally came.

Here she was, sobbing into the arms of the man who chose to stand by while she was tortured, who’d aided the Dark Lord in his quest to kill her best friend, who’d nearly killed Albus Dumbledore. The man who was once a schoolboy sneering at her and calling her a mudblood, endlessly tormenting her and her friends.

But in some twisted way, she understood. The logical part of her could sympathize. He’d been alone. His turn of allegiance was meditated, but he’d had no one to support him. No one to help him question the morals bestowed upon him by an entire bloodline of dark wizards. His had been a solitary path. In a way, it almost ratified his loyalty, because he had to choose to turn. He had to choose to forfeit his entire family.

For that, she could almost forgive him. In time.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into her hair. “I’m sorry it took so long.” And she felt him sink into her.

They sat for a long time, two war-torn hearts clutching each other, until dusk settled in. She hardly noticed him tentatively stroking her arm until he sat up.

“Come with me,” he said, pulling her up.

She hesitated, but followed him out a pair of double-doors on the side of the ballroom. A thin blanket of snow had settled on the grounds. They reached a stone archway she recognized as the walled garden from her window. The entrance was so overgrown they had to slip in one at a time.

“It’s not much to look at now, but it was my mum’s,” he offered.

Although it was the dead of winter, she could see how much life was here. Wirey, barren ivy coated the walls, spindles of winterberry scattered with red fruit lined the perimeter. Among the stalks and stems that had gone dark in the cold, she spotted snowdrops, winter jasmine, and a few other winter flowers she couldn’t name but was sure Neville could in a heartbeat. A giant snow-white hawthorn tree stood in the center, providing cover for a small bench and a fountain that had long dried up.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It hasn’t been tended in months, but I used to come here when I...”

She waited, puzzled by what might come next, but he didn’t say anything more.

She could see he was writhing inside, and without thinking too much she slipped her hand into his. He seemed to relax, and they wandered deeper into the garden.

“Is that a shrivelfig?” she asked, diverting the subject to the small tree in front of them, weighed down by dark plum-colored fruit.

“Yeah. They’re good for…”

“Elixir of Euphoria.”

He nodded, and she thought she understood. Although not as potent as the actual potion, she remembered reading that a nibble of raw shrivelfig could sometimes induce a mild, temporary sensation of happiness.

A muffled Christmas melody floated out from the dining hall window, breaking the silence.

“Ah, they’ve found the gramophone.”

She laughed. “George, no doubt.”

He smiled in return.

“What’s this?” she said, brushing past him to a plant growing under the cover of the hawthorn tree.

It was a tall, slender bush spiked in inch-long thorns and robust, starburst-shaped flowers. The petals were creamy white except for a tinge of midnight blue at the edges.

“Star lilies. They’re rare, and they…”

She reached forward, unable to resist feeling its soft velvet. But as soon as her finger stroked the petal the entire flower closed in on itself, curling into a tight ball.

“...don’t like it when you get too close,” he finished.

“Ah. The thorns should have told me as much. I’ve never seen them before.”

“Hermione.”

His thumb swept across her wrist and he tugged her towards him. She looked up into his wintery eyes, and although it was snowing, she was filled with heat. The moonlight, she thought mildly to herself, was kind to his face.

“Last night,” his hand made its way to cradle her jawline, and she found hers sliding onto his ribcage. He looked into her, eyelids soft, lips parted.

He seemed to be roving through the same questions she had this morning.

“Yes,” she said, but it wasn’t a question. He pulled her in closer, tugged at her jaw, and dove into her lips.

Her spine melted at his touch. The heat blossomed across her cheeks and down into her belly. He was, as she’d surmised this morning, hungry. And so was she. His teeth pulled at her lower lip and she pressed into him deeper.

Out of the corner of her eye she sensed a glowing blue light, ignoring it in favor of his candy sweet kisses coating her lips.

It was getting closer, she could feel it now. She felt him pause at her tongue, eyes fluttering open.

A silvery blue horse stood at the archway. Ginny’s patronus.

“Dinner’s ready,” it whispered in her voice.

Hermione let out a sigh and a frustrated laugh, burying her forehead in Draco’s chest. He did the same, throwing his head back in irritation at the midnight moon.

“We’d better go.”

Bless Ginny for sending her a warning before they were noticed.

* * *

Hermione and Draco spent all of dinner trying not to smile.

When she whispered a thank you for sending the patronus, Ginny gently plucked a fallen hawthorn blossom out of Hermione’s hair and mumbled “I expect to hear about it later.”

When she returned to her room that night, a small crystal bowl sat on her credenza. Floating on the surface was a star lily, its velvety blue-stained petals furling open to greet her.

* * *

Songs:

[ Look What You Made Me Do by Jack Leopards & The Dolphin Club ](https://open.spotify.com/track/4JKJdil8crNoWXwp2bzD0Y?si=wjWe7sSWR0K-HE48RbeceQ)

[ Movement by Hozier ](https://open.spotify.com/track/1djzKW3eYLyzjjHXazEWWh?si=XLgpveWYRAu5TUa8gAyj1A)


	7. Apples in the Garden of Winter

Christmas began to grow and twist its way into the manor and slowly, over a few days, they watched it transform. Ron and a few others had come via floo as the work at Hogwarts dwindled, and there were now so many people they never saw everyone all at once. The manor was starting to come alive.

The ballroom was decked in velvet green curtains and cream colored sashes draping from the ceiling. Tables and chairs were brought from all corners of the house and laden with centerpieces they’d spent an entire day making. Carafes and platters lay in wait for their bounty and a small dais had been erected for the string quartet. There was a brief moment of panic when they realized that they truly were throwing a Christmas ball, not just a Christmas party.

Draco sat in the orchard, leafing through a book under an apple tree. He was fond of the morning, especially in winter, especially after snow. The cold soothed him. His eyes scanned the pages but his thoughts wandered back to her. As she drifted through his mind he was beginning to realize he may have fancied her longer than he thought. He’d certainly, to his dismay, fancied her in fourth year. Though he didn’t recognize it at the time, he remembered a twinge of jealousy watching her dance with Krum at the Yule ball. He’d found himself unconsciously aware of her presence the entire night, like needles pricking at his neck.

As they aged he remembered noticing her more and more. Her proclivity for spells and encyclopedic mind were exceedingly annoying, but secretly he grew to admire her for it. As resentful as he might want to be, she really was “the brightest witch of her age.” Although, he did recall a day in potions sixth year, before they left, when she’d ruined her amortentia brew.

They’d accidentally caught each other’s eye across the room for a moment, until they were interrupted by a violent “bang!” and a puff of blue smoke from her cauldron. It startled them both so badly he couldn’t help but grin before looking away. To his surprise, when he risked a second glance she, too, had stifled a laugh. It was perhaps one of the only pure moments they’d shared during their time in school.

A delicate set of footsteps crunched toward the orchard, taking him out of his thoughts. He rolled his eyes, hoping it wasn’t Weasley come to finally have it out. They’d kept their distance since his arrival, neither of them caring to cross paths. He knew eventually they’d need to address each other, but he wasn’t ready. And clearly, neither was Weasley. Draco stood, making an about-face to meet the newcomer.

All he saw was a mess of chestnut hair before she let out a shriek, dropping the basket from her arms and drawing her wand straight to his neck in one swift motion.

“Whoa, easy darling,” he blurted before he could take it back.

Her fierce, blazing eyes drilled blindly into him until he saw the recognition return to her face. She dropped her wand, heaving a sigh.

“Oh god. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He saw a look of horror flash through her, at her instinct to threaten or his accidental endearment, he couldn’t tell. He rolled his eyes internally. Darling? Idiot.

“I… “ she paused to catch her breath. “I thought you were… I just… had a flashback.”

He quirked an eyebrow, not wanting to push but curious to know. She lowered her gaze, and he found himself wishing her eyes would return to his.

“What of?” he ventured.

“Snatchers,” she finally admitted. “We were hunting horcruxes, and we apparated to a forest somewhere in Scotland I think. As soon as we got there they found us. Just appeared, right there in the trees. We weren’t ready. They barely had to chase us before we were caught. And that’s… when they brought us here.”

Her chocolate eyes met his, and his heart sank. Again, they stood in silence, unsure what to say. How do you console someone who’s been tortured at your family’s hand?

“You can point your wand at me all you want,” he offered. “Just, go easy if you decide to actually curse me, alright?”

He watched her soften, a smile dancing on the corner of her lips, and they walked side-by-side among the trees.

“Draco?”

“Yes?” How did she manage to disarm him with a single word like that.

“Why’d you do it?”

He thought for a moment.

“My family’s been in his service for decades and I… ”

“No, I mean why’d you cast that disarming charm? ”

He’d figured she’d ask one day, but he still wasn’t ready for it.

“I suppose… I suppose I knew all along the Dark Lord was… that what he was doing was wrong. Knew my parents were cruel, selfish, cowardly people who only wanted power. And I suppose I looked around and saw you lot fighting so hard for each other, together…”

He paused to see her reaction. She was thoughtful, attentive, so he continued.

“And I felt… split in half. You were all so loyal to each other, and I saw how I betrayed that. And it just felt… wrong. I don’t know, I can’t really explain it.”

They walked in silence for a minute, and a feeling of dread creeped in. What if she thought he was a coward, too? What if she thought he only did it to protect himself?

“I know no one really trusts you yet. I know most people probably still hate you for everything you’ve done. But I think it was brave. And I’m glad you’re here now.”

He lowered his head, letting her words settle. They left an unfamiliar feeling in their wake.

“Molly sent me to pick apples for the tarts,” she offered, changing the subject.

“Right.” He was relieved for the diversion. “Well, there’s not many that bear fruit through winter except these over here.” He led the way down the orchard.

“They’re Godric apples. Golden on the outside, red on the inside, only good in winter.” Draco tugged one off a branch and took a bite, its sweet juice filling his palate. “Try one.”

She eyed the tree and then turned to him, tilting her head to the side as she met his gaze. She seemed to be considering him, thoughtfully, carefully. He felt like he was being studied, but he let her. He could let her all day. Slowly, eyes still locked to his, she reached for the apple in his hand. Their fingers caught, and his breath wavered from her touch. He watched as she took a bite from where his teeth had been moments ago, and his heart pounded invisibly, thunderously, loud.

He didn’t quite know how it happened, but he heard the apple drop to the grass with a soft thud as her arms snaked around his neck. His hands found their way into her curls, and he was suddenly staring down at the most powerful witch he knew, completely defenseless.

She kissed him hard. Harder than he expected, and he pulled her in tight until their bodies pressed together. Something about her fit so stunningly perfect against his chest it almost hurt. Like the waves at high tide, their lips rolled seamlessly into each other, sweet taste of apple drenching their tongues. He tugged at her lower lip and a soft, pleasurable moan came from her throat.

The power of that tiny noise nearly crushed him. He guided her toward the tree trunk pressing her up against it for balance, and with every ounce of strength he had, abandoned her lips to trace gently, carefully, down her jawline. She tilted her head back, eyes closed. Her scent filled his lungs as he kissed behind her ear.

“You smell like Jasmine,” he whispered, and he felt her shiver with pleasure in his arms. She caught his earlobe between her teeth and he groaned.

“You smell like sage.”

He melted, rushing back to her lips like she might slip out of his grasp at that exact moment. Her waist was addictive beneath his fingers, and he didn’t understand how he could feel this way; how she tore through him like a wildfire. She tasted like medicine. This witch, this woman, who’d quietly bloomed into a fearsome force that could defeat the darkest power in the world was in his arms, and he couldn’t get enough.

He wanted to kiss away her demons however she wanted, stand beside her in battle, rule an empire with her. The fleeting thought passed through him that perhaps he was getting ahead of himself, but he didn’t heed it. The warmth creeping into him felt surprisingly old, like it had been there for years.

She slowed, pulling away, and it took all his strength not to bring her back to his lips. He was rather dizzy with pleasure.

“I think I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” she whispered.

Words he never in a thousand years thought he would hear from her lips. But then again, never in a thousand years did he imagine the entire Order would be having Christmas holiday at his home. He took a deep breath.

“I think I have too.”

At that, she smiled. Her eyes glittered up at him like topaz, hesitating for a moment. “I think we should take it slow, though. We’ve been through so much.”

He couldn’t help but reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. It felt natural, and in that moment he knew he’d shown his hand, knew he’d given her a glimpse of his mind.

“Yes. We should,” he murmured. She was right. This--whatever this was--felt fragile; precious, like a single vial of the world’s rarest potion. Easily wrecked. Easily lost. Irreplaceable.

They turned and set to their task, pulling apples off the tree.

* * *

Draco walked unusually close to Hermione as they made their way down to the house with a basket full of bounty that would surely suffice, even for Molly’s standards. Draco watched as she shivered and shoved her hands deeper in her pockets. He pulled off his scarf and wrapped it around her neck.

“Thank you,” she said, eyeing him from the side. “I can’t be caught dead in this green though.”

WHACK!

Something hit her shoulder and spattered across his field of vision. He immediately dropped the basket, apples rolling across the path, and made to cover her back. In the same moment she whirled around, instinctively whipping out her wand, ready to repel their attacker.

“OI! Watch your backs!” yelled Colin from behind a hawthorn tree. “INCOMING!”

Just as they turned back around, a snowball flew square into Draco’s face.

He heard Hermione let out a gasp of relief followed immediately by a giggle. Clearing the snow from his eyes he discovered it was Weasley who’d accosted him. Ron shrugged, smirking mercilessly in his moment of victory, and wound up for another one.

“RON DON’T YOU DARE!” Hermione was already five paces ahead, packing a snowball and aiming for his face. It was the first time he’d seen happiness in her here, but he only had a few moments to admire it before taking cover behind a hedge.

An onslaught of snowballs flew to-and-fro, with joyful shrieks and indignant laughs filling the air, and for a moment there was life in this place.

* * *

Songs:

[Shy by Volker Bertalmann, Hauschka](https://open.spotify.com/track/53nANv9cK63oQlE0vas6qZ?si=T200V9tiRXeAYkoOrRVK6w)

[Livewire by Oh Wonder](https://open.spotify.com/track/6bpBsotzL05UzS1rHsIqk8?si=CTsnd9jhSBiI6US6ZfLvLg)


	8. The Emerald Ball

The kitchen was redolent with the smell of ginger and molasses. Harry and Ginny sat at the table decorating an army of gingerbread men while Molly and Arthur flitted about to finish the last of the cooking. Hermione slid onto the bench across from the two and started piping a smile onto the nearest biscuit.

“Have you got a dress for tonight?” Ginny asked between the constant buzz of Molly giving orders to anyone who entered the kitchen.

It hadn’t even occurred to her what she might wear. Her mind rifled through her trunk upstairs and turned up nothing. She’d only brought jumpers and trousers. It was all she’d had while they worked on the castle.

“Shit, no I haven’t got anything.”

“It’s alright, neither do I but Fleur apparated home a few days ago and brought half her closet back. We can go up after this and pick something.”

Hermione hadn’t thought much of Fleur when they’d first met, but over the years she’d grown to appreciate her. As vain as she seemed on the outside, she was actually rather earnest, and Hermione respected her commitment to the Order. It wasn’t the life she’d chosen when she married Bill.

“Thank god. I’d have shown up in a jumper and called it a day.”

“Well she hasn’t brought anything simple. It’s all gowns, really.”

Hermione paled at the thought. She hadn’t worn a gown since the Yule ball. It felt like an entire lifetime ago. Dressing up seemed superfluous after wartime, but maybe it could be refreshing. Maybe it could make things feel normal again.

“Mrs. Weasley, we’ve finished the trees in the ballroom, what else is there to be done?” Draco appeared in the kitchen doorway looking a little worse for wear. From her window this morning she’d watched a group of them chopping and hauling trees in from the woods to be decorated. He had a few pine needles stuck to his shirt, and she tried not to chuckle at such an unlikely sight.

“Draco, dear, we need to finish the biscuits, help these three.”

He hesitated, glancing at the three of them, but gave in and slid in on Hermione’s side. Harry’s eyes darted between the two of them and returned to his faceless biscuit. Ginny smirked across the table.

Draco grabbed a biscuit and a piping bag and stared at the two in his hands. “Erm, I’ve never done this before,” he admitted.

Before she could say anything Ginny beat her to it. “It’s alright, you can’t really mess it up. Show him,” she ordered Hermione, the mischievous glint of a dare in her eye.

She shot a glare at Ginny and grabbed Draco’s piping bag. “You just twist and squeeze,” she demonstrated.

Harry let out something between a snicker and a snort, focusing harder than ever on his gingerbread man.

“Something funny, Harry?” she snapped, eyes blazing.

His eyes widened in that vaguely arrogant, feigned innocence she’d known since they were eleven. “Nothing at all, Hermione,” he smirked, returning to his biscuit.

They decorated in silence, no one quite sure how to break the ice until Ginny took a stab.

“Did you have Christmas like this before? Parties and all that?”

“No. Well, we had parties but they were… different.”

“Full of Death Eaters?”

The table froze, all eyes on Harry. His tone was undetectable for a moment. Whether it was acrid resentment or the jest between former nemeses, no one could decide, until he let out a chuckle and grinned at Hermione. He was teasing. The tension released and Draco reached for the back of his neck.

“Yeah Potter, you might say so.”

It wasn’t acceptance, necessarily, but it was a good sign Harry was teasing instead of firing off angry insults. She’d take that as a win for the day.

“We had big parties… full of Death Eaters,” he nodded to Harry, “and they were dark. A cover for under the table deals and blackmail, really.”

A silent nod swept around the table. Nothing surprising to hear.

“Like what?” Harry pressed.

“I don’t really know. I usually snuck out to the garden. Didn’t want to… be roped into anything.”

She knew they were all thinking of the task he’d been given by Voldemort. But it was another thing to hear that perhaps he’d tried to avoid it.

“Well, you’re here now aren’t you? Best get piping those biscuits before mum loses it,” finished Ginny.

* * *

Fleur had an entire wardrobe’s worth of gowns, shoes, and jewelry laid out on the bed. Parvati had already been by to claim the pale blue silk one, Fleur was entertaining a high-collared midnight black gown in the mirror, and Luna was in the middle of zipping up a soft golden dress that made her look like the moon itself.

“Ah ‘Ermione,” Fleur oozed in her sweet French accent. “I zink zis will be ze one for you.”

She thrust an emerald green mound of fabric into Hermione’s arms. The velvet felt lush against her skin, soft and protective at the same time. She let it unfold and reveal itself, inspecting it momentarily against her frame.

“This is lovely, Fleur. I’m sure it’ll fit great, thank you,” she said, returning it to the bed and making for the door.

“Aren’t you going to get ready?” asked Ginny, pulling a blood red silk strap over her shoulder.

“I’ve got something to finish first. Be back in a bit.”

Hermione slipped downstairs, making her way to through the ballroom and out the double doors. The room was filled with people putting the final touches on the party. With the manor being so full it was surprisingly easy to disappear if you needed to.

Her feet crunched across the snow until she reached her destination. She took a deep breath, scanning the garden before her. Leaves and stems were decaying everywhere, the last of the winter blossoms clung to their lifelines, but the Hawthorn tree still stood strong in the center. She rolled her sleeves up and dug her wand out of her pocket.

* * *

“Gin I’m not so sure…”

“Mione it’s perfect, trust me.”

She eyed herself in the mirror. Forest green velvet rippled down her body and pooled at her feet. From the back the dress plunged down to her waistline, and a transparent chiffon cape draped low from either shoulder, cascading down to the floor. It was a bit much for her taste, but she had to admit it did look elegant. Ginny finished pinning Hermione’s unwieldy hair back and met her eyes in the mirror.

“You look stunning.”

“Thanks Gin.”

“And he won’t be able to keep his eyes off you,” she teased.

Hermione gasped in feigned offense, but she was only half insulted. The other half of her secretly hoped she was right.

“How’s that going, anyhow?”

“Well, we sort of… kissed in the orchard.”

“Hermione!”

“Oh, and in the library,” she blushed.

“I thought something might’ve happened that first night. I heard you coming up the stairs after midnight.”

“I don’t know Gin, something about him is so… well, he’s just different than I thought.”

“Oi, you two, mum’s gonna have a proper fit if we don’t get down there to help.” A handsomely clad Ron appeared in the doorway, Harry by his side. They looked so much older in their dress robes now.

Harry was positively beaming at Ginny as she slid out the door to take his hand. He kissed her on the cheek and whispered something in her ear. It filled her heart to see her two friends so in love.

“You look nice, Mione,” offered Ron.

“Thanks Ronald,” she smiled with a genuine fondness. “So do you.”

He offered his arm and the four of them made for the foyer.

The manor was glowing to life, buzzing with clusters of arriving guests and chatter echoing through the halls. Light glowed from every floating candle and a cold draft hit them every time the door opened to welcome newcomers.

“YOU FOUR.” Molly met them at the bottom of the stairs before they could escape, clearly having no regard for their hopes to enjoy the night as partygoers. “Ron, Harry, go help Hagrid direct everyone arriving by animal to the stable. We’ve got hippogriffs and thestrals already. Ginny, your father needs you in the dining hall, and Hermione, dear, do show everyone to the ballroom would you?”

Hermione made for the front door to retrieve the arriving guests: a fifth year Ravenclaw whose name she didn’t know and his family. She ushered them through the foyer just as Draco appeared at the other end of the hall from the kitchen, carrying a tray of roast. He stopped short, eyes locked into hers. She watched, admittedly with a bit of pleasure, as his mouth dropped slightly open at the sight of her. That is, until she felt her own heart skip a beat at his tailored dress clothes, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to help deliver food. He really was incredibly handsome. She couldn’t believe she’d paid it so little mind until now. The veil of bias shrouds many things.

If she hadn’t already been looking, she wouldn’t have seen his lips curve up like an archer’s bow, his shock transforming into a fleeting grin meant only for her. But she did, and it sent a swarm of butterflies to settle in her ribs. As she walked across the foyer she knew the emerald train of her cape beckoned like a siren he couldn’t follow.

By the time she’d ferried the last group of visitors to the ballroom the party was already well underway, and she stood at the entrance taking it in. What a sight for sore, embattled eyes. Lights glittered across the magicked ceiling like stars, Christmas trees stood in every window along the wall, and the warm sound of music seemed to spill into every corner of the manor. Champagne towers and spiced wine flowed on the tables, and a crowd was already dancing in the middle. At the other end of the room she spotted George and Colin conspiring together, casting mistletoe to grow above unexpecting couples. She grabbed the nearest champagne flute, took a large gulp, and scanned the room.

“It’s almost like they’re here, isn’t it?” came Luna’s airy voice.

“Who?” Luna’s out of context remarks never surprised her anymore. They were a comfort, in fact.

“Everyone who died, of course.” She nodded her head toward the fireplace where a wall of photos hung. At first she didn’t understand, but then she caught a glimpse of Fred Weasley’s face. Ignoring Luna, she made her way to the mantle.

It was a makeshift shrine of sorts, a place to pay respects and be reminded of the cost of war. She sipped her drink and looked into the eyes of all the friends they’d lost this year: Mad-eye, Severus, Padma, Dennis, Fred, Lavender, a white feather she presumed to be Hedwig’s, Dobby’s sock, and so many others she didn’t recognize. A few candles dotted the mantle, paying homage. Because of them, they could all be here tonight celebrating. It was a bittersweet revelation, and it weighed heavy in her heart.

Ron appeared by her side with another flute of champagne, replacing the one in her hand without asking. “We all need a little extra tonight, I reckon.”

She smiled half-heartedly. “How can we do this, Ron? when they’ve all died?”

“They would’ve wanted us to, Mione. It could have been any of us up there. We all fought. We all knew the risk, and so did they.”

He was right, but it didn’t make it any easier.

He held out his hand. “So maybe, let’s try and have fun? For them?”

She nodded, and let him lead her into the fray. She was stiff at first, uneasy at the freedom the dance floor offered, but Ron and the champagne helped.

“I’m sorry,” he half shouted into her ear over the music as he twirled her around.

“For what?”

“For being such a git about Malfoy, before. It was generous of him, letting us all come here. He’s not so bad.”

“Thank you, Ron,” she smiled up at him.

“Besides, I think he fancies you.” He rolled his eyes.

She spotted Draco standing at a window in conversation with Remus, drinks in hand. Seven months and it was still disorienting to see him amicable with members of the Order. He’d taken to Remus, it seemed. Or rather, Remus had carved out a space for Draco and he’d filled it.

“Yes, I think he does.”

Ron looked down at her, lips pursed in that uncertain expression he always had when he was piecing things together.

“Yeah, well… seems like you two might get on,” he finally concluded, reluctantly.

Even though she didn’t need it, it was a comfort to have his approval, however tacit. They danced the rest of the song in silence and as it wound down, Ron deposited her with Luna and Neville and made off for the dining hall.

“Not so fast darling, we need to dance,” came a sly voice from behind. A hand slid into hers and flipped her around, whisking her back onto the dance floor before she could object.

“Blaise, what the…”

“Hermione. Darling. You know I’ve always liked you.”

“Blaise, I barely know you,” she retorted, sarcasm spilling out. “You took my arithmancy book in sixth year and never gave it back and we haven’t spoken since.”

“Right. As I was saying,” he spun her around with a smirk. “You know I’ve always liked you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t hex you to the next solstice if you’re playing games with Draco.”

“Excuse me?”

“He’s mad for you. I haven’t seen him like this since second year when he had a crush on Pansy. He’s a stone cold troll on the outside to be sure, but he’s a sensitive bloke. And I swear Hermione, if you’re just here to have a good laugh…”

“I’m not.”

He cocked his head, genuinely taken aback at her brevity.

“Oh,” seeing the seriousness in her eyes. “Well, good. Right, then.”

“Are you quite finished, Zabini?” came a recognizable sneer.

“As a matter of fact I am, mate.”

“Good, get lost then.”

Blaise vanished into the crowd and yet another pair of hands slipped around her waist and into her palm, but this time they were familiar.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” A wave of ease washed over her, and at the same time, so did a cascade of nerves.

“Sorry about Blaise, I turned around and he was here before I could stop him,” he rolled his eyes.

“It’s alright.”

“What did he… say, anyhow?”

Hermione grinned. “Nothing worth repeating, I’m sure.”

“Git,” he muttered in Blaise’s direction.

“Enjoying the night?”

“I am now.” And for maybe the first time, visible adoration flickered in his smile. He leaned in and whispered so only she could hear.

“I quite like your dress. Green suits you.” The compliment was earnest, but it tasted absolutely sensuous in her ear.

“Does it? Well then, a smile suits you,” she replied softly, remembering the smile he’d tried to hide earlier.

He let her request linger for a moment before conceding, lips turning up to grant her wish. It was unassumingly warm, coming from a heart she’d known to be so cold, and so rare it felt like a secret.

Her hand tightened around his and he spun her away and back again to the vibrant tempo. Faces whirred past and she vaguely considered the risk of it all, dancing with Draco Malfoy in front of everyone she knew. She wasn’t quite ready to raise eyebrows yet, but the looming threat of their secret being revealed was thrilling.

She felt his fingers slide underneath the edge of fabric on her back, bringing her body so close she could feel his heat. His arms intertwined with hers like lace as they danced. Surprisingly, although perhaps it shouldn’t be by now, they flowed seamlessly together against the music. They fit, she noticed, in ways she hadn’t fit with Ron, or Viktor Krum, or even Cormac for that matter.

The song ended and a gentle, slow waltz floated across the dance floor. The lights dimmed signaling a shift in the evening. The room softened, and Hermione had the sudden urge to bolt. All at once it was too delicate, too vulnerable, as though a spotlight were on them. Her hands started to tremble as she pulled away.

“Stay,” he pleaded into her ear, hands tightening around her waist. Her heart caught in her chest, searching his ocean gray eyes as he waited for her answer. “Please.” It took her but a moment to consider before she nodded, settling into his arms.

Slowly, eyes fixed to hers, he knelt down to the floor and gathered the trailing hem of her dress and cape. Clasping the fabric safely between their two hands, he swept her into a gentle waltz, and any words they had for each other died on their lips.

His lead was steady, rhythmic and trusting as they wove in and out of the steps. The air stilled around them and the melody seemed to muffle in her ears. He was studying her, as she had studied him the past few days, and she let him. She could let him all day. Without hesitating, her hand slid from the islands of his shoulder blades to the bridge of his neck, and she watched his expression ease open. In return his fingers found the valley of her spine, sending a current across her back. The tops of their thighs pressed together as they floated through the rhythm: down-up-up, down-up-up following each other’s motion. Their closeness seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, a magnetic force pulling dangerously close. She knew they couldn’t, but in that moment she wanted nothing more than to broach the gap between their lips.

He seemed to share her thoughts, and looking down with a burning fondness he abandoned her spine to stroke her jawline as they turned about the room. Like a matchstick to stone, it set her skin ablaze.

Suddenly the music keeping their time disappeared, morphing into something wildly jarring and upbeat. They hadn’t even noticed the song ended. Hermione let out a shaky breath, as if she’d forgotten to breathe for the last three minutes. Their hands fell apart and they smiled quietly to each other, cheeks glowing with a tinge of embarrassment at having forgotten where they even were.

“Hermione! Come dance with us!” Ginny’s hand yanked at her wrist, and she gave Draco an apologetic glance before being snatched away to dance with her friends. She was, apparently, in high demand tonight.

* * *

The night wore on in a blissful haze. She lost count of how many flutes of champagne she’d drunk. After the older crowd dwindled away from fatigue the classical music gave way to witchpop, and she thought for sure she’d danced with everyone in the room. But the night was wearing on and she had one more thing to do.

Scanning the room, she spotted her target: Draco leaning against a window by the terrace doors having a break. She snaked through the crowd toward him, knowing he’d already seen her. She grabbed a cloak off a hook by the door, whirled it around her shoulders, and sidled up to him at his perch.

“Come with me,” she said into his ear, tugging at his hand. “I have something for you.”

He didn’t hesitate, grabbing a cloak for himself and slipping out on the terrace after her.

It was pitch black outside, and their breath formed little clouds in front of them. She cast a warming spell and led him through the snow, the music from the ballroom fading farther and farther from them.

“Granger, what are we doing?” he said, a small laugh escaping his facade of resistance.

“Shh, trust me.” She was perfectly tipsy at this point, but it didn’t bother her. He was too, and she couldn’t wait to show him.

They rounded the corner to the garden entrance and she slid behind him, covering his eyes.

“GRANGER!” he laughed, the first liberated laugh she’d heard from him, like a breath of crisp autumn air after a summer heat. She silently thanked the champagne for letting them both have this night.

She guided him into the garden. “Merry Christmas,” she whispered, dropping her hands to reveal his gift.

He stood, seemingly shocked. The whimpering, feeble garden he’d shown her a week ago now stood before them, blooming with almost reckless delight. Blossoms of every color and shape filled every corner and hollow, tendrils of bright green ivy wove in and out of it all, lacing it together like a web. It was abundant.

His mouth was agape. “How did you…”

“I did it this afternoon. It’s all charmed, so it won’t last. It’ll probably be gone by tomorrow, but I thought it’d be fun for the night.”

His gaze wandered over the garden, unreadable.

“Do you like it?”

He turned, eyes full of gratitude meeting hers. “Hermione, it’s beautiful. Thank you.”

He took her hand and they wound through the foliage, enjoying the tiny wonderland she’d created.

“It’s what it used to look like. Like paradise.”

She smiled as they reached the hawthorn standing sentry in the middle. The fountain she’d managed to mend bubbled proudly in front of them. He ran one hand through the water, turning to face her and taking her hand in his free one.

“Thank you. Truly.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, looking into his diamond eyes. A sweet affection crept over his face under the moonlight.

“Come here,” he mumbled, pulling her into the kiss they were robbed of on the dance floor. His icy cold hand met the skin on her back, fresh from the water, and she flinched. He withdrew immediately but she guided it back, wanting all distance between them to vanish. She wrapped her arms around his neck in a complete embrace and he deepened the kiss, honeyed sweetness caressing her lips. In a single, swift motion he lifted her by the waist to sit on the edge of the fountain, water cascading behind her. Their lips tugged and pressed blissfully against each other until he slowed to a painfully pleasant pace, dappling her collarbone with kisses. She tilted her head back. He was heavenly.

His hand curved around her neck and brought her gaze back from the sky to meet his.

“I have something for you too,” he whispered into her lips. They shared a last, soft kiss before he placed her back on the ground and they made their way back to the manor.

* * *

The tone inside had changed drastically since they’d left. It was near one in the morning and the evening was spiraling out. Many had left or gone up to bed, but a few clusters of friends peppered the ballroom, talking drunkenly and filling the near-empty room with laughter. Draco led her out of the ballroom and down the hall to the library.

She gave him a curious look. What could he have in here for her? A book would certainly be a predictable gift, but she didn’t think he knew her well enough to choose a thoughtful title.

“Sit,” he gestured to the piano bench.

She let her cloak fall to the floor and slid onto the bench next to him, just like they’d done on the first night.

“I, um… I wrote you something.”

It was her turn to be shocked.

“Draco…”

“Shh, just listen. Close your eyes.”

She risked him one last look of surprise and obeyed, letting her lids fall closed. His fingers met the keys and a soft, gentle melody began to fill the room. It was rippling, note after note almost on top of each other. Glittering high notes scattered among deep, minor ones, swelling into a bittersweet melody that left her hurting and healing at the same time. Tears pricked at her eyes even though they were dark to the world. She felt blindly to her side until her hand met his thigh, resting there to feel him, to know he was with her. He played and he played, releasing a long and gently wandering coda, until she felt the song descend toward its end and he let the resolving note rest in the air.

“Draco,” she whispered, eyes fluttering open. He looked down, a shyness he wasn’t known for clouding his features. “Draco, it’s beautiful,” and she couldn’t hide the tear pooling at the corner of her eye. “No one’s ever done something like that for me before.”

“No one’s ever charmed an entire garden for me before,” he replied.

Their eyes met, searching each other. They seemed, she realized, to have reached the edge of what felt familiar, and without knowing it had crossed over to a place neither of them expected to go. She reached up, stroking his cheek and his eyes closed. The night was waning and the headiness of sleep encroached. It was not long before she might be delirious with sleep, but his handsome features beckoned and she leaned up to kiss him softly.

“Thank you,” she whispered onto his lips, still new each time they kissed.

They rested together, watching curiously as their laced fingers caressed the landscape of their hands in the dim candlelight. Eventually he broke the silence.

“We should get to bed. It’s late.”

“Mhmm,” she mumbled, yawning.

They held hands walking back out to the foyer, ascending the staircase to the landing where it split off in either direction: the master suite to the East, her bedroom to the West. They stood for a moment, not ready to part ways. Something stirred in her, and she knew deep within that she desperately wanted to follow him back to his suite. His eyes betrayed the same desire, hand fidgeting in hers, gravitating in the direction of his room. The pull was near irresistible, but neither of them could say what they truly wanted.

A muffled clattering shook her back to reality. The house elves were cleaning up the dining hall, a few lingering conversations echoed out from the ballroom, and someone bustled around the kitchen down the hall. The house was still very much alive and full of people even though the party had ended. She turned back to Draco, crestfallen despite her common sense. No matter how much they wanted it, tonight wasn’t the night, and they both knew it.

He tilted her chin up. “Hey. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he consoled. She smiled, resigned but still full of contentment from the night.

They shared one last, longing kiss before parting ways on the staircase.

She fell asleep to the melody of her song playing in her head.

* * *

Songs: 

[Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas by The Sea The Sea](https://open.spotify.com/track/0EoQJXwVIsHZu0coGl9VJV?si=dFp2vKp7TruUvyF2oc1nNQ)

[The Christmas Waltz by Wolfgang Hesse](https://open.spotify.com/track/1mo1GHuFkrf5HbmsIAFE9A?si=N4izH-egS8ailN6immpQOg)

[Melody Noir by Patrick Watson](https://open.spotify.com/track/1e1a7eAlICks9mch3UVsEH?si=5liV0KiyRyOzKOkkQL368w)


	9. Morning Owl

A pair of songbirds at the window pulled Hermione from a peaceful slumber, singing back and forth to the sunrise. She rolled over, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and pulled the covers tighter around her. The room was cold, and there was more than one reason she wasn’t ready to get up yet. Besides it being far too early to be awake, today was her last day at the manor. She was meant to travel to Westminster tonight, to settle in the flat she’d rented. Her post at the Wizengamot started next week and although she was excited to begin working, she was now faced with the reality that her time was up. This thing with Draco, whatever they had grown over the past few weeks, would have to be cut short. Their story, however short, ended here on a gloomy day after Christmas.

What was this thing, anyhow? A convenience of the moment? A rebound from the post-war depression? The piano melody from last night floated through her mind. No, a match of convenience wouldn’t have written her a song. She wouldn’t have transfigured an entire garden for a passing flirtation. She couldn’t explain it to herself, but something between them made her feel… powerful. And more than that, she liked him, liked his presence, his softness beneath the cold exterior, his courage to abandon the dark in favor of the light.

She rolled over to her other side, wanting to ignore what she knew the day held. To her surprise, Cassiopeia was watching her from her frame. They held each other in regard for a moment.

“I like him,” she sighed, not particularly looking for a response.

“Of course you do,” came Cassiopeia’s grisly voice.

“Whatever does that mean?”

“For being the brightest witch of your age you’re rather dim, girl. Of course you like him. _You’re two sides of the same coin_.”

Hermione paused.

“Gryffindor and Slytherin are not so different,” she added. “Bravery and cunning both achieve the same end.”

What an absurd observation. She and Draco were not the same. She rifled through her memories for confirmation. Back to laying beams at the castle, discussing his Christmas plans. His parents in Azkaban, hers in Australia, both left as the remaining monarchs of their families. She thought back to the Slytherin dungeon, laughing drunkenly, poring over books and scratching out words until they were sure it was perfect. That he even wanted to work at the ministry was a surprise. She thought of how she’d gotten there in the first place: returning a book he’d left, which brought her to the memory of coming upon him in the orchard, reading yet again. She thought of how he’d managed to stay on the sidelines of corruption, willfully resisting the only way he could. Even his botched mission to kill Albus Dumbledore was a deceit. He knew he’d never go through with it, Narcissa proved that with her unbreakable vow. And she thought of how he’d come around to find his own place on their side of the war. Playing the son of a Malfoy until the final moments, betraying his entire family in the end. And now, staying to rebuild, offering the manor, helping with Christmas. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps they did share two sides of a coin. Perhaps they were a revolving door of bravery and cunning.

“But I…” she turned back to Cassiopeia but the frame was empty. She heaved an irritated sigh and climbed out of bed. No use trying to fall back asleep now. She pulled on a jumper and slipped out of her room. As she tip-toed toward the stairs she heard Ginny’s door unlatch across the hall, a figure making a clandestine exit.

“Harry?!” she whispered, not wanting to wake the house.

They locked eyes like two rabbits spotted by a wolf, eyes widening. Hermione stifled a laugh and Harry pressed a finger to his lips, desperately pleading for her to keep quiet. She rolled her eyes and smiled. “Off you go then,” she mouthed, laughing to herself.

It was quiet downstairs. A clock ticked away in the foyer, and the soft pad of her socks echoed across the cold marble as she made her way to the kitchen. She was grateful no one was up yet, and put the kettle on for a cup of tea to take to the drawing room. A cozy, quiet morning curled up on the couch was just what she needed.

When she reached the drawing room, steaming cup in hand, she was startled to find the fireplace already crackling and Draco sitting in an armchair. He stared pensively out the window.

“Oh, morning,” he said, voice a little deeper from the sleep.

“Morning. What are you doing up so early?”

It was then she noticed a folded bit of parchment in his hands.

“What’s this?”

“It came by owl this morning,” he said quietly. “I’ve been offered the post.”

“Draco that’s wonderful!” she smiled, taking a seat across from him by the hearth.

“Yeah. Yeah, I suppose it is.”

She watched his eyes lower back to the parchment, then back out to the window. “Is something the matter?”

“Nothing, I just… I never thought… I never thought my life would be sorted like this. Doing something _I_ want, not what my father wanted. Getting a job at the ministry. And...” he trailed off looking to her, confirming what she’d pondered this morning in bed. She held his gaze, and a strange, archaic feeling filled her chest.

It was hope. For the first time since the war, she felt hope. Hope for a future she had never thought to imagine, that she couldn’t even clearly picture now, but that she somehow deeply wanted.

She broke the silence. “So this means you’ll…”

“Be at the Westminster office, yeah.”

A smile spread across her face.

“And you’ll… ” He hesitated, but his eyes were pleading for it to be true.

“Be at Westminster, too.”

Relief spread over his face and they exchanged a conspiratory smile, bravery and cunning glimmering in their eyes.

* * *

Songs: 

[chosen one by Ella Martine](https://open.spotify.com/track/3WzTCZL334Sj0HcHne8aY4?si=TaJBgme_S2qpq0NILobPWg)

* * *

More: 

[Complete Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4zMkl1hQ7MuoaWZlMmTPYm?si=5-RmyCV3T4Gx0sMd3EsCMg) \- Includes all songs from the chapters as well as others I used for inspiration.

[Pinterest board](https://pin.it/V1kOfpF)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for joining me on this little journey! Comments brighten my day.


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